


Into The Dark

by bunnyangel



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Buddie Trick or Treat, Family Fluff, Fear, Haunted Houses, M/M, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnyangel/pseuds/bunnyangel
Summary: He hasn't been truly afraid of the dark since childhood.For the I'm Your Buddie Discord Trick-or-Treat event. Prompts: Buddie Family Fluff, Autumn themed, Halloween/spooky themed
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Howie "Chimney" Han, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66
Collections: Buddie Trick or Treat





	Into The Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xpaperheartso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpaperheartso/gifts).



> A "treat" for [xpaperheartso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpaperheartso) from the [Buddie Discord Trick or Treat](https://discord.gg/cztTUAz) event.
> 
> Thanks for the beta, [Marcia Elena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena) and [nilshki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilshki).

"This is fine."

His declaration feels significantly less firm than it had outside as the gaping maw of black stretches infinitely before him.

The house settles around him, creaking and groaning like a living, breathing thing. What little of the windows that aren't boarded up are so caked up that he barely makes out his hand in front of his face.

He swallows hard but holds his ground, eyes wide and straining uselessly to see what can't be seen; tries to remember exactly what Chim had said about this place.

The pungent, combined mustiness of rotting wood and stale sweat and mildew are clinging to his throat and making his stomach roll, and it's still way too dark in here. His phone is burning a hole in his back pocket, but no, that's against the _rules_.

He glances back for a long moment. His team is outside waiting. He can go back if he wants to. He doesn't have anything to prove. Not to them. Not anymore.

Maybe he has just a little bit to prove to himself.

Maybe he's just a sucker taking a sucker's bet.

He exhales a slow, quiet breath.

Honestly, this is Chim's fault.

No, this is definitely Eddie's fault.

_It's your fault,_ the small, traitorous voice in his head sneers. He shouldn't have exposed weakness where his team could pounce.

He hasn't truly been afraid of the dark since childhood, but here and now, the icy fingers of dread creeping up his spine say differently; half forgotten memories of a childhood of drifting through long dark hallways and empty rooms in a too big house are filtering through. It's a hell of a revelation to have when you're in the middle of it instead of, say, safe at home during a power outage. Cold sweat is already collecting on his brow and the back of his neck.

The floor creaks like a shot with his first step, nearly taking his nerves with it. He has quick flashes of crumbling wood giving way beneath him and swallowing him into a yawning abyss.

He really, _really_ doesn't know why he agreed to this. It's not fair. _Anyone_ would be anxious in a place like this.

Another deep, slow breath.

He's a firefighter. He's not afraid.

He treads carefully forward, arm held out and fingers brushing against a brittle wood wall; deeper and deeper into darkness because the only way out is through--and he's definitely going to get through this because he's got to kick Chim's ass, and then maybe Eddie's anyway, for egging him on.

It's probably a fatal flaw, that he feels so invincible in that man's presence.

He freezes when a scraping step echoes back to him, blood draining from his face so fast he feels a little lightheaded.

Another scrape, like a dragging footstep, and he wavers, legs locking against the urge to run back the way he came.

Silence drags on, the seconds ticking by and plucking skillfully at his already shot nerves in greeting.

Breathe. Just breathe.

He keeps going.

And then he stops, feet planted like anchors, because--there's a sudden, slight draft to his left and...open air, where the wall he'd been following had fallen away.

And slow, rasping, rattling breaths that are way. too. close.

Oh _fuck_. _What the fuck_.

He blinks rapidly, neck stiff against the urge to turn his head and possibly _see_ and muscles locked in a violent battle between fight and flight.

It's not real. It's _not real._

With a gasp, he lurches forward several steps, whirling around despite his blindness to see if it will follow.

Nothing moves.

Nothing's _there_.

He backs up, step by entirely too loud step, until he hits something solid and nearly sends himself careening to the ground with how fast he whips around.

A corner. He exhales unsteadily. He's hit a corner.

Okay, this place is insane. He's _insane_ for being here and agreeing to this.

And then, skittering, like too many fingernails on cracking, aged wood, coming _towards_ him.

He bolts.

Corner after corner.

Stretching hallway after stretching hallway.

Round and round.

Gasping breath after gasping breath.

His pounding footsteps are only eclipsed by his pounding heart and the crawling, clawing panic that he's stuck here; that there's no way out; that _it will find him_.

He's fit, okay? He is a fit male fireman in the prime of his life and he can't catch his freaking breath as he slams into walls and scrabbles around corners.

And then he skids to a stop, just inches away from slamming into yet another wall, and stands, hunched, gasping for air and grasping for calm. He can't really see, but he _knows_ it's there. The faintest outline of a person-shaped thing down the far end. A shade of black just a tad _off_ from its surroundings.

_Don't panic._

It isn't real. He's fine.

Another deep, shuddering breath.

He'll be fine.

He slowly backs away, unblinkingly focused on that one spot until he manages to turn the corner, and breaks into a stumbling half run. This time he keeps to left turns, bypassing those awful open spaces between solid walls with extra hurried steps.

And finally, there at the end of the hall is the bright, rectangular outline of salvation.

Skittering.

In a fresh burst of panic, he sprints for the exit. He slams into it, through it and the world outside returns in a rush. Screaming laughter. Bright whirling lights and the thick, greasy aroma of fried foods. The jeering grins of jack-o-lanterns all in a row to herald his success.

For a second, he can't reconcile the adrenaline still rushing through his veins and the sight of a surprised Eddie and a beaming Christopher in front of him; inherent safety temporarily unable to overcome ingrained fear.

And then he's got his arms wrapped around both of them, face buried into Eddie's neck and Christopher squished and shrieking with laughter between them.

"Nine minutes and forty-two seconds," Chim announces.

He breathes for one second-two seconds-three seconds, and then punches Chim in the arm.

"Ow, hey! Don't be a sore loser." Chim backs away, laughing.

"Was it really s-scary?" Christopher asks, leaning in to rub their cheeks together.

He exhales loudly, the tension draining rapidly now that he's _out_ and the fear already another half-forgotten memory, then musters up a wide if still shaky-feeling smile. "Super scary. So scary that I'm not sure your dad's gonna make it!" The dramatic declaration has Christopher giggling again.

Eddie's arm tightens from where it's wrapped around his waist. When he looks, brown eyes are narrowed and there's a smirk curling those lips.

"Oh, you think so?"

He finds himself suddenly with a laughing armful of Christopher, a parting kiss on his temple, and a jaunty wave as Eddie heads into The Dark, the latest and greatest haunted house attraction in downtown Los Angeles.

"Good luck, daddy!" Christopher calls as he curls around him. The last of his unease dissipates with the warm weight against him, like a particularly effective blanket.

"Yea, buddy," he says. A small, fond smile spreads helplessly across his face and he hugs Christopher closer. "He's gonna need it."


End file.
